


Do Better

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [64]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Mentions of Cancer, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, Temporarily Unrequited Love, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-13 16:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21000683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Greg visits his old Key Stage 4/High School English teacher. Nearly two decades later he learns something new.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts |School

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade entered the modest home of Delilah and Eric Warren.

Mrs. Delilah Warren was his English teacher during A-Levels. He visited the woman, who had been both a bane and a blessing, at his alma mater quite a few times after he graduated, and he was there at her retirement party. They had met for dinner a couple of times after that, the last being four years ago.

For the past couple of years, he had told himself he would see her. For the past couple of years, he had not. It was with a heavy heart and a sense of guilt that he now entered her home for the first time. The woman was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. John Watson had explained it to him; the woman had nothing left but time and it was now winding down. She had requested to see some of her former students. Greg was in the middle of several cases when he got the call, he dropped them all to see her that very afternoon.

“DI Lestrade, hello! I’m so glad you were able to come, thank you!” Before Greg could reintroduce himself, Mr. Warren grasped his hand in clear delight, “Let me take you to see Lilah.”

The visit was heartbreaking to say the least. The frail body in the bed was a far cry from the spitfire teacher that kept him on his toes. She may have been lying down, but oh those grey eyes peering down her nose at him through the red rimmed, cat eyed glasses she has always worn were as bright as ever. A grey brow rose at him, and had she pulled a ruler from under her blanket and smacked it down near his knuckles, it would not have been surprising in the least. He was a seasoned police officer with nearly twenty years on the force. Still, he knew for a fact that saying goodbye, knowing he would never see her again, was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life when the woman dismissed him from her presence for the last time.

“Did you know you are one of the select few to make _The Wall_ and the one that my wife was most proud of?” Mr. Warren had a box of tissues at the ready as he waited in the sitting room for Greg to return. Greg was grateful the man did not say, nor let Greg himself say the usual platitudes in such times. Taking comfort from the soon-to-be widower would have been too much.

The man had said it with such importance that Greg was could not help but ask, “The Wall?”

Mr. Warren patted his arm and pointed to a room off to the side, just as the doorbell rang, “go in, you’ll see. Let me answer that.”

Greg made his way to the woman’s office. Once he entered and looked around he understood.

A wall on the far side of the office held a series of framed photos. Greg quickly realized some of the photos were the individual school photos students took each year. Nearly forty years of dedicating her life to teaching but there were only ten students on the wall. Of the ten students, four had their yearly school photo next to a more recent photo. Greg recognized one was a current Member of Parliament, he did not know two the other students, but from the age of the photos Greg suspected it will not be long until teacher and the two students were reunited in the afterlife. The fourth student was himself, his photos were uppermost pf the individual photos. Above all of the photos was a group photo of Mrs. Warren with her former students who attended her retirement party.

Greg found himself smiling in memory at his very young teenage face next to what he knew was a two-year-old publicity photo of him from The Times. The younger photo was of him and Mrs. Warren on his last official day of school.

They were both a lot younger then. His first grey hairs had started, but to his then younger eyes she had always been grey. She had addressed all students as Mr. or Miss with with their surname if she knew it. A student who annoyed her or she otherwise deemed unworthy was addressed as young man, or young lady even if she knew their name. Mrs. Warren had been a harsh task master. Students that received an A grade from her each semester were few and those that received an A+ were so rare that even honor students feared her.

Above all Mrs. Warren took none of his nonsense. Greg was never a bookworm, but he had studied sometimes, at least more than his mates ever had. For him that was good enough. However, _Good enough_ was never good enough for Mrs. Delilah Warren.

She was the first teacher who had told the very much rebel younger him that he was better than that. Told it to him in a way that he knew was not just lip service to get him to do his work in class, but that she meant every word of it.

> “There is nothing beyond _best_. That is it. If you think you’ve already done your best in your young life, then you’ve already quit it, Mr. Lestrade. You’ll only know when you’ve done your best when you’re dead. As long as you breathe you can always do better. _Do. Better_.”
> 
> He knew that advice applied to more than his grades. Still, when time came for that final grade he was nervous. She called each student individually by name; instructed them to bring their belongings and spoke to them outside of the classroom. None of the students entered again. It was nerve racking as he realized she called the honor students he knew would have received good grades first and worked her way down the list. There five students left; Greg knew two of the remaining students, who were good mates of his, were failing. He was pretty sure the other two had failed as well if their previous class work had been any indication. All five knew they were they were done as they looked to each other. When his name was called, he sighed loudly as he gathered his rucksack and wished his soon to be erstwhile classmates good luck.
> 
> “What was the first thing I said to you, Mr. Lestrade?” She asked as formal as ever. Her stern face gave no clue as she held the folder with the essay he worked on close to her so he could not sneak a look. 
> 
> “On or off the record?” he responded warily.
> 
> The tiniest hint of a wince cracked her features, “Oi! I forgot you overheard me that day. It still holds - you can be a right bastard when you want to be.”
> 
> Greg could not help the proud smirk that played at his lips, but quickly straightened his face at her slight tut.
> 
> “I meant on the record from the first semester in my class when you handed me that abysmal assignment.” She shook her head.
> 
> “You said the smartest idiot in the room is still an idiot.” Greg answered. She had said it to the class, but had looked directly at him. He knew she had meant him and his mates.
> 
> “Last summer break I privately tutored a very brilliant young man completing his A-Levels at an age where most are just starting Key Stage 3. It was difficult because the insufferable twat was book smart but had so little exposure on how real people live and little interest in finding out. I have never seen such a bon vivant sans joie de vivre in one so young, but I digress…”
> 
> Greg bit his lip trying to decipher where this conversation going and what it had to do with him and his final grade.
> 
> “You Mr. Lestrade were the near opposite when you first entered my class; you understand people, but were lackadaisical in your studies. I know the first time you had my class was the luck of the draw. The second time I admit I pulled you from another instructor because I saw something in you. This time I know you switched instructors when you could have gone to another instructor and likely have gotten a better grade. _You_ chose me knowing what you would get from me work wise. I admit I pushed you just a little this semester because of it.”
> 
> As with the smirk he was not able to stop, he could not hold back the derisive snort that escaped. He quickly ducked his head prepared for her censure. “Sorry Mrs. Warren.”
> 
> “You will never be as brilliant as my erstwhile private student, I can’t lie; he was very unique. Still, you are no idiot…Gregory.”
> 
> Greg’s head popped up at the use of his first name. Rumor had it she only used first names with students she really liked and only on the last day of school when they were no longer her students. For all the grief he had given her, that was an honor he never expected to be bestowed upon him.
> 
> She moved the folder and showed him his final grade.
> 
> “Are you kidding me?!”
> 
> Greg stared at the paper stunned. He had expected a C+, perhaps even a straight B in his wildest dreams. He had worked hard on the last assignment. He tried, he knew had done better, much better than his previous work, still he had no illusions beyond a decent passing grade.
> 
> The A- stared back at him. She gave him an A-!
> 
> “Thank you!” he threw his arms around her beyond grateful and then quickly backed off. He could not be seen hugging Mrs. Warren, he had a reputation to keep after all, “Sorry! Sorry! I’m sorry.”
> 
> “You gave an excellent take on _The Charge of the Light Brigade_. I was quite impressed on the comparatives and contrasts as given. It demonstrated the cognitive abilities I knew lay hidden under that bit of rough. On its own the essay was exemplary, however your previous marks brought you down, still…” She grinned and gave him a one arm squeeze, “congratulations!”
> 
> Greg beamed, he fully understood then why she had pushed him so hard. Nothing else could have gotten him to this moment and it was so worth it.
> 
> “I know Mr. O’Malley and Mr. Racine are your cohorts in shenanigans. The disclosure or discretion of the final grade is yours to make, but the I do wish to keep the memory of this.” She pulled a camera out of her pocket. “I’ve become excessively good at this….”
> 
> “Oh c’mon, Mrs. Warren! Really? No!” Greg whined.
> 
> “You’re graduating. I may never see you again. Give me this Gregory.” she insisted. “Your associates may never see this and if they ever do, it will no longer matter.”
> 
> It was the use of his first name again that made him relent and pose for the pictures.

Taken long before the advent of digital cameras, Greg had not seen the photo until today. The picture of the beyond proud and beaming teen stared back at him along with the more recent photo of him. Over twenty years and a lot of history between the two. Underneath his two pictures she had written and taped captions. Under the teen him was written _The Hooligan_. Under the recent photo: _This is how you Do Better_.

If anyone had seen him just then they would have seen that the beaming smile of pride on the living man in knowing he has done well was the same on the smile of the teen in the photo.

He was about to walk away when a smaller set of pictures off to the side caught his attention. These were clearly former students as well, but not students of Greg’s school. Unlike the school photos, these photos were clearly taken in each student’s home. There were no then and now photos and no names beneath them. He remembered then that she used to do private tutoring as well and guessed these were the best of those students. Greg recognized three as prominent politicians of London, one was a known actor and one Greg was sure was a royal as preteen. However, those were not the photos that had stopped him. It was the one photo with a label: _Young Arrogance_.

It was a photo of a young teen boy, round in the face with bright ginger hair and a smattering of light freckles across his nose. In all of the photos the students had smiled happily, except this one boy. His face was serious almost stern, but there was pride in the very familiar ice blue eyes that Greg realized was a young Mycroft Holmes. 

Mycroft Holmes, the mysterious older brother of Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes and his very secret heartache. Though both he and Mycroft are dedicated to serve Crown and Country in different ways, they were two men from different upbringings and means. Greg was the seasoned street cop from the wrong side of the tracks who worked hard. He was a respected officer who had earned his way to Detective Inspector and was well on track to become Detective Chief Inspector soon. Mycroft, the very behind the scenes political mover and shaker was born into a powerful family from the right side of the tracks and the man himself, to put what he did professionally as succinctly as possible, owned the tracks and then some. 

Greg gasped in the recognition. Greg knew without a doubt that this was the brilliant young man who had completed his A-Levels at a young age that Mrs. Warren had spoken of that long-ago day.

“Oh God, those eyes! So intense and so beautiful even then. If you only knew how much of an amazing man you have become…” Greg reached up and touched the photo reverently, “…and how much I would love to wake up next to that man each morning for the rest of my life.”

Lestrade and Holmes originally met on a strictly professional basis, in interest keeping tabs on the younger Holmes sibling. In all honesty Mycroft used to scare the toughened street cop. It took Greg a long time to warm up to the enigmatic man as he began to understand him. It took even longer for Mycroft, who lived up to the pseudonym of Iceman, to warm up to the detective. Greg was happy to honestly say that after so many years of being merely acquaintances they were now friends. Still, Greg’s heart wanted more with the man who would likely cut off all communication with him if the enigmatic man ever found out. He kept his emotions severely in check around Mycroft who made no bones about his contempt of sentiment and emotional attachments.

An unrequited secret love with the man was better than not having him in his life at all. Greg just knew if Mycroft ever discovered how he truly felt the hard-earned friendship would be over.

The sound of a masculine throat being softly cleared was heard behind him. Greg has spent the better part of nearly a decade listening to that throat clear in annoyance, sarcasm, trite amusement and on rare occasions that Greg could likely count on his fingers alone, embarrassment. He would know the sound of it anywhere.

Greg Lestrade knew it was Mycroft Holmes who cleared his throat behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits erstwhile private English instructor. Nearly two decades later he learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's POV

Mycroft was surprised when Mummy had called and informed him of Mrs. Warren’s request. While he called on occasion and had met with the woman for an annual dinner, he had never given her his number, not even the official number to the minor office he occupied with the government. He knew the Warren family had gone through several channels to find him. It was serious. Death came to everyone eventually.

Still, not even he could deny paying his respects to his erstwhile private instructor. A woman whose most important lessons taught over the years had nothing to do with the subject she was contracted to tutor. Understanding her frailty, he had intended to spend no more than a half hour, when he saw the silver spikes of Gregory Lestrade’s hair as the detective inspector entered the Warren’s home just as his sedan pulled up. It was a surprise to have a connection with the man other than his brother, Sherlock. He was not aware Gregory Lestrade knew the woman; then again, their many discussions rarely included their primary and secondary school years. Delilah Warren was one of those teachers you either liked or you loathed; there was no middle ground. Knowing the woman and from what he knew of Lestrade’s past he would have solidly placed Gregory in the latter category, yet the man's presence clearly placed him in the former.

Mycroft’s delight in seeing Gregory was immediately superseded with his dismay as his plan to get in, pay his respects to Mrs. Warren and get out was now done for. Mycroft Holmes had stopped lying to himself months ago when it came to his feelings for Gregory Lestrade. It was a lie by omission every time they saw each other when he would not admit his feelings to the man. Every gut instinct in his heart told him to speak up. Then the cruel memories of the one time he allowed his heart to be held by another only for it to be shattered into far too many pieces made him stay quiet.

Gregory had seemed preoccupied the last couple of dinners they shared. It was the kind of distracted Mycroft recognized as someone wanting to be elsewhere. Though Gregory was aware Mycroft knew, he had never spoken of anyone when he finally put himself back out into the dating world after the divorce from his serial cheater of a wife. He knew Gregory was not currently dating anyone, yet Mycroft just felt if Gregory ever discovered how he truly felt their friendship would be suffer and he could not risk that.

Still, his desire to spend even a few moments in Lestrade’s presence made him walk to the modest Warren home after a couple of minutes.

“Oh, I know which you are! You’re Young Arrogance!” Clinton Warren clapped Mycroft on the arm as though they were old friends instead of two men who have met for the second time in their lives

“Pardon me?” Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

“You’re Mr. Holmes, correct?” Mr. Warren bit his lip at Mycroft’s less than pleased expression.

Mycroft gave a curt nod.

“Thank you for coming. Forgive me, my Lilah had nicknames only for her absolute favorites over the years. She had said I would know any of her favorite students on sight. As always, she was correct. You’re a bit older, than when she worked with you, I know, but the eyes are the same. One she calls The Empress, another she calls The Hooligan and you, Young Arrogance, especially made quite the impression on her. When she came home after your first lesson she told me you were going to run things if you ever learned how to at least fake humility.” The man continued bluntly.

Mycroft was seldom caught off guard, but this was one of those times. He had learned how astute she was at reading people over the years, still, he was not only surprised to learn she had considered him one of her favorite students, but that she had him so rightly pegged from such a young age.

“Yes, I know she never told any of you. I think it’s one of the reasons she wanted… this. She said you and the Hooligan made her earn her money in different ways, but she liked that. Oh, I just sent The Hooligan into her office. It’s off the sitting room, to the right. You’ll understand when you see it. Go see and then I’ll take you to see her.” Mr. Warren dismissed Mycroft to speak to a woman who had entered behind him.

Mycroft went straight to the office. Even knowing Lestrade would be there he mentally stumbled at the sight of him in the room. Lestrade's back was to the door, no one else was in the room with him. His eyes scanned the wall until he found Gregory’s photos and read the labels: _The Hooligan_ and _This is how you Do Better_. It thoroughly amused Mycroft to realize one of the top detective inspectors in New Scotland Yard was known as _The Hooligan_ by Mrs. Warren. Had Greg not openly confessed to some of the misdeeds of his misspent youth even Mycroft would have been hard pressed to believe Greg would become such a law-abiding officer. Oblivious to Mycroft’s presence, the detective inspector was about to turn away when a photo captured his attention.

“Oh God, those eyes! Even then they were so intense and so beautiful. If you only knew how much of an amazing man you have become…” Greg said reverently as he reached out and caressed the picture lovingly, “…and how much I would love to wake up each morning next to him.”

He watched as Gregory caressed the photo of this ‘amazing man.’ Mycroft was just as stunned by the intense jealously that struck him at the discovery that Gregory was interested in someone and how much his own heart panged wishing that someone were him.

Mycroft stood stunned by Lestrade’s confession. Clearly it was something not to be meant to be overheard. Now he understood Gregory’s preoccupied behavior of late. It was desire. The desire to be with whomever it was that has captured his fancy. That was where he wanted to be, not having dinner with Mycroft.

The minor occupant of a government position rarely employed the skills learned when he did legwork at the beginning of his career anymore. Still, they were skills that came back to him easily as he silently entered the room and placed himself in a position to see what the photo had captured Lestrade’s attention and if he knew the person that had the detective inspector’s heart.

It was that same training that kept Mycroft from giving himself away as he realized the photo Lestrade had caressed so gently was of a much younger him. Mycroft mentally gaped as he stared into the cool eyes of his twelve-year-old self. He understood then what Mr. Warren had meant. Puberty, dieting and his more physical work in his early career had whittled him down and his continued exercise kept him at an acceptable physical level. He was no longer the chubby preteen in the photo, but yes, his cool trademark stare was in evidence even then. It was a different level of stunned to realize that Gregory thought of _him_ as amazing, that Gregory wanted to wake each morning next to _him_.

Buoyed by the unexpected discovery Mycroft gently cleared his throat.

Without turning around Gregory barely contained his gasp of surprise. The way Lestrade immediately dropped his hand, Mycroft knew Lestrade recognized him by the mere clearance of his throat. His entire being radiated the surprise, the pleasure at knowing it was him and the fear having realized he may have been overheard. Gregory casually raised his hand to point to the group photo above them all.

“You did not attend her retirement party. We would have known then we both knew her.” It was said casually; his attempt to hope that he had not been heard. Mycroft let it stand as he walked over and stood beside him.

“True. I was out of the country, but even were I home, I would not have attended. The noise… The...people.” Mycroft grimaced. Gregory could not help but give a small smile knowing how much, or rather how little, Mycroft thought of most of humanity that he often referred to as goldfish.

“Somehow neither you nor I had ever brought her into any of our discussions. All this time, I never knew you were one of Mrs. Warren’s favorites, to be fair I never looked, but in retrospect I am not in the least surprised.” Mycroft’s voice held a faint note of amusement, “she always liked the hard case ones with potential she once told me. You had been on telly, but she never indicated she knew you. She and I had dinner; years ago, before she retired - she had told me of a police officer within the MET who was a right bastard as a teen. I realize now that was you.”

“Ya, that was me in a nutshell back then. Part-time hooligan, full-time right bastard.” Greg had a fond sigh as he indicated the photo of the young him with Mrs. Warren. “The day she took that picture, she told me of a young student she had tutored the summer before. She said he was brilliant, but she had never met anyone so young who lived so well, but without joy. Given our respective ages and seeing this photo now, I believe that was you.”

“You are correct. Regrettably, so was she. I was a miserable sod back then, full of bravado and ego, intelligent and so incredibly ignorant.” Mycroft agreed. “I was book smart, but ordinary people stupid. She suggested I spend two full semesters in a state school. It was…enlightening. It forced me see there was value in some ordinary people. Even those I considered beneath me – which back then was nearly everyone. Mrs. Warren was the one who taught me the goldfish I often disdained could surprise me. She was right in a way.”

“Oh? In what way?” Greg asked curious. He looked at Mycroft, but Mycroft would not look at him. Mycroft had a focused glare that cut through people as any laser cut through glass. Yet Gregory was among one of maybe three people on earth who did not cower when it was first turned on him. Mycroft had always looked people unflinchingly in the eyes. He knew Gregory was surprised that he did not do so now.

Mycroft’s long elegant fingers slowly raised up and touched the photo of young Gregory the way Gregory had touched the photo of young Mycroft moments ago.

“If only _this_ boy knew how much of an amazing man he has become…” Mycroft paraphrased Gregory’s words back to him softly. Mycroft then turned to Greg himself and reached up slowly telegraphing his move as Mycroft cupped the side of Gregory's face, “…and how much I have desired to wake up next to _this_ man but was too stupid to observe that such feelings – feelings that I would have denied having if asked – could ever be reciprocated until today.”

Greg, who had shivered slightly as Mycroft’s touch, beamed as the words sank in.

Greg started to speak then pressed his lips tight for a moment. He hesitantly reached and slid his hand into the hand that cupped his face and interlaced the fingers.

“Gregory, I…” Mycroft pulled back, “You do understand there is no turning back from this?”

“Mycroft, I promise you I am not turning anywhere but towards you.” Greg smiled gently. “Mrs. Warren was your tutor and my teacher. Exactly what would she say to us right now?”

Mycroft glanced around the small office and knew Gregory was correct. “She still schools us.”

“_There is a time and place for everything…_” Gregory started a familiar line of Mrs. Warren’s as he reluctantly lowered his hand.

“_…but now is not the time and here is not the place._” Mycroft finished the line.

“She did her best.” Gregory indicated the photos on the wall with a tilt of his head. “You and I and these others are proof of it. Still…”

“Yes…?” Mycroft looked to Gregory at the pause.

“We live, but despite her words, I know that with you that I cannot.”

“Cannot what?” Mycroft frowned slightly.

“Do. Better.” Gregory answered honestly.

Mycroft’s entire being lit up with a hope that he saw reflected within Greg.

Another former student entered the room. Mycroft took one look at her and knew she was the Empress. The three acknowledged each other silently as he and Greg left the office.

“I need to see her.” Mycroft looked at the stairs.

“Go.” Greg reluctantly let go of his hand, “we’ve waited this long, what’s a few minutes more in comparison to what happens after?”

Mycroft’s chat with Mrs. Warren was not long, before Mr. Warren came up and let Mycroft know that there were now two others who awaited time with the woman. Mycroft said his heartfelt goodbyes and left.

Greg had waited in the living room. Neither spoke as they left, their respective minds wrapped in memories.

“I took the Tube here from NSY. I’m still parked there.” Greg broke the silence as they reached the pavement.

“Her time is almost done…” Mycroft tilted his head towards the home they just left and then to his waiting sedan, “…I believe our time is just beginning, yes?”

“I believe so, yes.” Gregory agreed.

“Let me drop you off to your office then; it’s on the way to mine.” Mycroft tapped a code on the roof of the sedan. He opened the door when the heard the lock disengage, “then can you please regale me on the how you were named _Hooligan_?”

“Is that what you really want right now?” Greg raised a brow.

“No.” Mycroft admitted. “Not really.”

This time it was Gregory who cupped Mycroft’s face as he leaned in. It was soft kiss at first, barely an exchange of breaths. Mycroft knew Gregory was giving him that last chance to back out. Mycroft also knew he was not going anywhere.

“Is that what you really want right now?” Mycroft raised his brow.

“No, not really,” Gregory grinned at the challenge and shoved Mycroft against the sedan. “Let us Do. Better.”

The next kiss was not soft as Gregory put all his desire in it. Mycroft froze for a moment at its intensity and returned it with equal fervor.

“If we do better right here… I believe it will be breaking one of those law thingies I’m sworn to uphold.” Gregory said breathlessly as he leaned away.

“Laws… Pfft.” Mycroft turned to climb into the sedan, “then arrest me. You are the law and I do suspect I will do something against the law soon.”

“Well, you do know I carry handcu…” Gregory started to speak and stopped.

Mycroft smirked at Gregory’s sudden silence as the detective inspector’s own handcuff closed around his wrist with a satisfying click.

“You do not have to say anything.” Mycroft spoke the opening lines of Gregory’s rights. “Though I think I prefer to paraphrase the American version here:_ Anything you say can and will be held against you_ in the court of law.”

“Mycroft Holmes.” Gregory whispered as he followed Mycroft into the sedan with a lecherous grin and closed the door.

Neither man made it to their respective office.


End file.
